April is the cruelest month, kneadingKnuckles onto keys, mixingCases and conventions, stirringDull roots that need sudo to brew.Winter kept us warm, coveringLaps in heat sinks, feedingA little life a few volts a time.Summer surprised us, coming over the HudsonWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnadeAnd went on in the sunlight, into the High-line park,And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.Bin gar keine Zeichner, stamm' aus Nachricht-Apps, echt JournalismusAnd when we were interns, seeing the mayor's,They took us shreddingAnd I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down papers went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I code, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that access the shell, what branches growOut of this stony repo? Son of Octocat,You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken aliases, where the path is faulty,And the dead tree cries four-ô-four, the reset --hard gives no relief,And the dry prompt blinking blinking, ready to tell you nothing was found. OnlyThere is a shadow to this blinking prompt(Come in under the shadow of this blinking prompt),And I will show you something different from eitherThe path in your shell pointing to your bashOr the path in your the shell rising to zsh;I will you show you news in a handful of binary.Frisch weht der WindDer anderer Weg zu,Meine SchreiberzukunftWo weilest du?"You gave me Mountain Lion first a year ago;They called me Mountain Lion girl."--Yet when I booted up, late, from the Apple garden,Your arms full, and your lips pursed, I could not scroll,My gestures reversed, I was neitherhosting Sites nor at the beach, but beach balls spin,Looking into the heart of rainbow's underworld twirling, the stillness.Öd und leer der Windrad

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,Had a bad cold, neverthelessIs known to have the most abstract library in Europe,With a wicked pack of functions. Here, said she,Is your function, the drownedPhoenicianSailor```function (hisEyes) { var pearls = hisEyes.toPearls() return pearls;}```Here is Belladonna() // the Lady of the Rocks,// The lady of situations.Here is theManWithThreePipes(), and here theHowLoop(),And here is theOneCommasCsv(), and this noop,Which is blank, is something it extends,Which I am forbidden to see. I do not findtheHangingLine(). Fear death by heap size.I see crowds of memory, doubling every 18 months.Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,Tell her I bring the drive myself:One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,A crowd flowed over Brooklyn Bridge, so many,I had not thought Maps had misdirected so many,Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,And each one fixed his eyes before his screen.Flowed up the hill and down Old Fulton Street,To where Grimaldi's kept the hoursWith a dead line on the stroke of them all.There I saw one I knew and stopped him, crying "Stetson!You who were with me in the /etc at Etsy!That worm you planted last year in the root,Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?Or has sudden vigilance disturbed its bed?